


Parent-Teacher Night

by theevilcleavage



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theevilcleavage/pseuds/theevilcleavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sansa teaches third graders, and Margaery's son is in her class. AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa is nearing the end of Parent-Teacher night.

The banner she’s made for the occasion is coming undone above the blackboard. She reaches up to smooth the pieces of tape back into place, but she can tell they won’t last much longer. 

The kids spent all of Wednesday and Thursday making posters for tonight. Their finished work is now hanging all around the room, colorful and welcoming. It’s a shame that most of the parents haven’t noticed them, save for two moms from the PTA. 

The cookies just outside Sansa’s classroom have gone untouched. She’s offered them to just about every parent who’s stepped foot in the school building, but they’ve all politely refused. She tries reminding them that cookies are full of sugary goodness and that everyone needs a treat or two now and then. Some of the parents smile, but none of them reach for a cookie.

Sansa doesn’t mention that she spent three hours last night baking batch after batch of chocolate chippity goodness. Or that she was so excited to meet the parents that she took the time to memorize all of their names. 

But Sansa figures the lack of enthusiasm amongst the parents is kind of her fault. In retrospect, having Parent-Teacher night on a Friday wasn’t the best idea. 

Friday is the day of the week that everyone looks forward to. The working parents all head home early and the stay-at-home moms and dads are just excited not to have to wake their kids up early for a couple of days. It’s the beginning of the weekend…and they’re all stuck with Sansa Stark.

She has just finished with Mr. and Mrs. Martell, and is pulling out a file for the next set of parents, when there’s a knock at the door.

This time, only one parent walks in.

It’s a mom, on the younger side, with bright, weary eyes and a pretty neutral expression. 

“Ms. Tyrell, hi! Welcome,” Sansa says, reaching out her hand. The woman takes it, offering Sansa a slightly crooked smile. 

Margaery Tyrell, Sansa remembers. That’s this woman’s name. Sansa recalls reading it last night in the school directory. 

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Stark.”

“Oh, Sansa is just fine.”

Margaery takes a seat, crossing one leg over the other. The chairs in the room are very small, though just right for third graders, and every parent looks ridiculous sitting in them. 

“Sansa,” Margaery says slowly, as though feeling it out in her mouth. “That’s a lovely name.”

“Oh! Thank you.”

She tries not to blush as she searches for the file on Margaery’s son. 

“So,” Sansa says, opening up a blue folder and pulling out a few pages. “Let’s talk about Eric, the man of the hour.”

Margaery smiles, but Sansa can see that it’s strained. She probably knows what’s coming. It’s not like Sansa is the first teacher to struggle with Eric as a student. 

“He’s really sweet.”

That’s what she starts with. It’s always best to open with something positive. Margaery doesn’t look any more at ease, though, so Sansa plows right ahead.

“Look, I really like Eric. He’s imaginative and bright and he obviously wants to learn. He’s just…struggling a bit.”

Margaery nods, running a hand through her hair. 

“So…are you going to keep him back a year?”

The defeat in this woman’s voice is heavy and Sansa’s heart goes out to her.

“No, Ms. Tyrell,” she replies, her voice steady and firm. “I don’t think he needs that. I just...I want us to come up with a plan for him.”

“A plan?”

“Yes.” And now Sansa is digging through Eric’s file, pulling out several of his tests. “See, look at this. He’s answered half of the test questions correctly on this exam. And the others, he left blank.”

“He ran out of time.”

“No,” Sansa cuts in. “I mean, yes, a little. But the questions he got right? I studied those with him. He stayed after class with me and we went over that information. I used pictures and some other techniques to help him remember. And…I think it worked.”

Now Margaery is leaning forward, her expression unreadable. Her fingers are clenched tightly around the strap of her purse and she looks kind of hesitant.

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want him to stay with me after school. Three days a week, maybe more. Just for an hour. Otherwise he’ll get burnt out,” Sansa explains, her voice growing more and more excited as she speaks. “And we’ll work on everything we’ve done in class. I’ll come up with practice problems and examples and we’ll try whatever we need to. I really think he has a shot.”

Margaery is staring at her now, mouth slightly open. And then, without a word, she reaches into her purse and pulls out an expensive leather wallet. 

“How much will I owe you each week?”

Sansa frowns. 

“Oh, um…nothing.”

Margaery’s lips quirk upwards as if to say, “come on, you can’t be serious”. Except Sansa is, and she says so.

“I’m a teacher. It’s my job to help these kids. I don’t need any extra pay.”

Margaery looks more than a little confused, but she puts her wallet back inside her purse and straightens in her chair. Her fingers are twisting together and she looks like she wants to say something, but can’t quite get it out.

“Ms. Tyrell, are you okay?”

“Yes,” she says quickly, but then her face falls. “It’s just…Eric has been having trouble for a long time. I never thought…”

“Ms. Tyrell-”

“Margaery.”

“Margaery. There’s nothing wrong with your son, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Sansa says, soft and reassuring. “I know he wants to learn. I know he’s interested. He just…doesn’t think like the other kids. And one day, I bet you that’s going to work in his favor. He’s a special little boy, but right now he needs help. We all do sometimes. So…don’t lose hope.”

Now Eric’s mother is biting at her lower lip, and even though she still looks exhausted, her eyes are shiny and full of relief. When she stands up, Sansa does too. And when Margaery Tyrell moves towards her, Sansa reaches out her hand for a polite shake. 

She receives a hug instead.

“Thank you,” Margaery whispers against her neck, arms tightening around her. “Thank you.”

Sansa smiles and returns the embrace.

“It’s nothing.”

….....................................................................................................................................................................................................

When Margaery steps outside the classroom, she notices the cookies lying uneaten on a silver tray.

“Oh,” she says, smiling, and it’s the happiest she’s looked since she first arrived. “May I have one?”

Sansa grins. 

“Have as many as you like.”

“Cookies are my favorite dessert,” Margaery murmurs, words muffled around a mouthful of chocolate. 

“I like them a lot,” says Sansa. “They’re good for the soul.”

Margaery stares at her for a moment, a curious expression on her face. But then she smiles again and it’s gone.

“Yes,” Margaery says, grabbing another cookie from the tray. “They are.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s just about four o’ clock, the end of her after-school hour with Eric, and Sansa is quite pleased with what they’ve accomplished. 

It’s been three months since Sansa’s conversation with Margaery Tyrell, and in that time Eric’s grades have improved drastically. He doesn’t leave test questions blank anymore or hand in unfinished homework. He participates more in class and has started engaging more often with the other students. And most importantly, he is regaining some excitement about learning.

It’s more than Sansa could have hoped for, and certainly more than Eric’s mother thought was possible, but this little boy has proved them both wrong. 

Eric’s only big struggle right now seems to be math. Sansa has spent most of their recent time together testing him on his times tables and walking him through some different ways to think about multiplication. Today she's using candy to further his understanding.

“So if you give me two M&Ms for breakfast, two for lunch, and two for dinner, how many M&Ms do I have?”

“Oh! Six.”

“Exactly. You gave me two M&Ms three times.”

“So…two times three is six?”

“Right!” 

Sansa leans in for a quick high five and then reaches for her flashcards.

“So how about four times four?”

“Four M&Ms, four times,” Eric says, as he moves the M&Ms on his desk into small piles. “Four…six, seven, eight...eleven, twelve…sixteen!”

“Perfect,” Sansa says, and Eric grins, proud of himself. “See? You’re a natural.”

“But what do I do if the numbers are really big and I don’t have enough M&Ms?”

“We’ll get there,” Sansa assures him. “But not until next week.”

There is a knock at the door, probably Eric’s mother, and Sansa stands to open it.

“Guess it’s time for you to head home.”

Eric begins to gather together his writing materials, packing them neatly into his pencil case. Sansa turns towards him, her hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t forget, we’re meeting up again on Monday.”

.......................................................................................................................................................................................... 

Margaery Tyrell has spent the past two days preparing for this. 

She’s tried saying it to herself, to her mirror, to Loras and to Renly (and then again to herself), but it’s really no use. 

There is no good way to ask out her son’s third grade teacher.

“Just tell her that you like her,” Loras had said. “She probably feels the same way.”

Only Margaery very much doubts that, not to mention the whole thing would be hugely inappropriate given the circumstances. Sansa has gone out of her way to help Eric, and Margaery repays her with what? A bad come-on and some unwanted attention?

Margaery knows it’s a bad idea. She really, really does. But over the past few months Margaery’s crush has gone overboard, to the point of no return, and she doesn’t think she can keep it to herself any longer.

After she knocks on the door to Sansa’s classroom, Margaery closes her eyes and takes a few calming breaths.

That calmness fades away the second Sansa opens the door.

“Hi Mommy!” Eric calls out, running towards her at full speed. He stops just in front of Margaery, grinning widely, and she pulls him tightly against her. 

“Hello sweetling.”

“I did multiplication today,” he announces, squirming until she lets him go. “But I can't do it in my head yet.”

“You’ll get there,” Sansa says brightly, clearing away a few pieces of paper. “Give it time.”

Margaery glances around the room, eyes jumping from the M&Ms on Eric’s desk to the gummy bears scattered on Sansa’s. 

“I see you’ve been around a lot of sweets this afternoon.”

“Oh!” That seems to jog Eric’s memory and he turns to Sansa excitedly. “Do I get a lollipop today?” 

“Sure you do. You’ve earned it,” Sansa replies, and leans over to grab a cherry flavored tootsie pop from her small candy jar. “But you have to promise you’ll work extra hard on your times tables tonight. At least ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Eric says quickly, snatching the lollipop out of Sansa’s hand. “I will.”

“What do we say?” Margaery murmurs, gently nudging her son. His cheeks redden a bit.

“Thank you Ms. Stark."

“That’s a good boy.”

And now Margaery steps forward, bouquet of flowers rustling in her hands. Loras helped her pick them out the other day, insisting that roses are the only option when trying to woo a lady.

Except Margaery isn’t so sure that that’s what she’s doing. Because maybe her feelings for Sansa are only a result of Sansa’s willingness to help her son. And she’s grateful to Sansa Stark for that, of course, but is that all this is? Gratitude?

Sansa notices that she’s being watched and blushes prettily under the attention. 

No, Margaery thinks, watching Sansa clean bits of dried glue off of Eric’s desk. It’s much more than gratitude.

“Sansa,” Margaery says, enjoying the way the name slides off of her tongue. “I want to thank you for helping Eric along with his classwork.”

“Oh, I told you, it’s just my-”

“Your job, yes. But few would go to the lengths that you have and...” Margaery pauses, searching for the right words. When she doesn’t find them, she holds the bouquet of roses out in front of her. 

“For you.”

“Oh…” Sansa whispers, noticing the flowers for the first time. She quickly moves to take the roses from Margaery’s outstretched arms. “They’re beautiful.”

“It’s a thank you,” Margaery says. “For working with Eric.”

“You’re very kind, Ms. Tyrell.”

“Margaery.”

“Margaery,” Sansa repeats with a smile.

Eric is growing a bit restless now, digging his shoes into the floor and glancing frequently at the clock. It's been a long day for him. He keeps his mouth shut, but Margaery knows he is eager to head home.

“Eric, darling, will you wait outside for me?”

“Okay,” he says, and both women smile at how quickly he rushes out the door. 

Now it’s just the two of them, parent and teacher, smiling awkwardly at each other. Sansa clears her throat and Margaery, who is usually so charming and so at ease when she comes here, finds herself shifting in place. They are both clearly itching to fill the silence. 

“The weather’s been lovely this-”

“I like you.”

Margaery blurts it out quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, and winces after she says it. 

“I really…I like you very much.”

When Margaery looks up, Sansa’s eyes are wide, her hands twisting together in front of her.

“Oh,” she says, and Margaery kicks herself for being too forward. “You mean…oh.”

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Margaery assures her, figuring it’s too late to turn back now. “It’s only, I think you’re very beautiful and I…want to get to know you better.”

Her meaning is clear, and Margaery isn’t sure it’s possible for Sansa Stark to turn any redder. 

“You mean, you want to go on a date?” 

“I do.”

“With me?"

"Yes."

"As in, dinner and a movie and a big tub of popcorn? That kind of date?”

Margaery smiles, feeling some of her confidence return to her.

“Yes, that kind of date. Only I doubt we’d pay much attention to the movie.”

Sansa laughs at that, running a hand through her hair. 

“Well," she says. "I might be free next Saturday.”

Magaery's head snaps up. Sansa is watching her very closely, her smile sort of encouraging and sort of nervous.

“Is that a yes?” Margaery asks, hoping it doesn’t come out too desperate. 

Instead of responding, Sansa picks up a sharpie. Margaery is confused (and is about to say so) until Sansa reaches for her hand and jots down her phone number. 

“Yes,” Sansa says. “A date sounds nice.” And Margaery grins at her like a complete idiot. 

“Wonderful.”

She is on her way out, mentally congratulating herself, when Sansa’s voice calls her back.

“Oh, and Margaery?”

“Yes?”

She turns to find Sansa staring at her, a small, fond smile playing on her lips. 

“I think you’re beautiful, too.”


	3. Chapter 3

Margaery’s doorbell rings at exactly three o’ clock. 

The high-pitched sound jolts her out of her nap and she tumbles gracelessly off of the couch. Her nose starts running as she stands up and Margaery wipes it away with her sleeve. She hasn’t been this sick in a very long time, not since she came down with the flu last November, and she’s hating every moment of it.

By the time she gets to the door, her nose is itching like crazy and her head is about to explode.

With a great deal of effort, she pulls the front door open, hugging her sweatshirt tight against her body.

"Hello!" 

Margaery squints against the sunlight and immediately regrets opening her door. Her visitor is Sansa Stark, the woman she was supposed to have a very romantic date with tonight. Before her immune system took those plans and wrecked them.

“What are you-”

“I’ve brought soup!” Sansa announces, holding up a small, round container. “And movies, though I’m not sure if you’ll like them. And I have some Advil with me, and some Zyrtec, and a jar of honey to help with your throat. It’s the brand my mother swears by, so I’m sure it will work. We can mix it in with some tea, if you like. Though it works better if you just swallow a spoonful. That’s how I always-”

Sansa stops herself, realizing that she has been rambling on a bit. She blushes as Margaery leans against the door frame and stares at her. 

“I’m sick,” Margaery says slowly. “I’m really…I’m a mess.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Sansa replies, moving past Margaery into the house. “To help with that. And I figured, if we couldn’t go out on a real date, I’d bring the date to you.” 

She makes her way to the kitchen, maneuvering around Margaery’s furniture, and dumps everything onto the counter. 

“Where do you keep your bowls?”

Margaery points tiredly to the right.

“Over there.” 

She wraps her arms tightly around herself, suddenly self-conscious that Sansa is seeing her like this. It’s their first time meeting outside of school and this isn’t exactly how Margaery had pictured it. 

But Sansa seems unbothered by Margaery’s appearance, and she hums cheerfully as she grabs a bowl and pours the soup into it. Then she’s heating it up in the microwave and the smell of chicken broth fills the room. Margaery breathes in slowly. 

“That smells amazing,” she murmurs, suddenly very hungry as Sansa removes the bowl from the microwave and places it in front of her.

“Eat up!” 

Margaery forces a smile and collects some of the broth on her spoon. She blows on it for a few seconds, and then takes a sip.

“Wow.”

The soup is delicious, that’s for sure, and obviously homemade. Margaery is hit with an image of Sansa slaving away in her kitchen, cutting up vegetables and boiling up the soup, just for her.

The thought makes Margaery smile, though that quickly devolves into a sneeze.

“Bless you,” Sansa says.

“Thanks.”

Margaery wipes at her nose a few times, face scrunching up.

“I’m sorry. I must look a fright.”

Sansa smiles and slides her hand over Margaery’s.

“You look lovely as ever.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Sansa picks out a romantic comedy for them to watch.

Margaery isn’t a big fan of those, but Sansa is practically vibrating with excitement as she inserts the DVD and presses ‘play’.

“You’ll love it, I promise.”

Margaery really doubts that, but then Sansa is curled up against her, pulling a blanket over the both of them, and Margaery forgets all about the movie.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

At one point the leading lady gets stuck in a snowstorm. 

“That’s just an unrealistic amount of snow,” Margaery murmurs, sipping at her mug of tea. “This movie takes place in King’s Landing, not Winterfell.” 

Sansa nudges her lightly

“Suspend your disbelief.”

“For this scene, or the whole movie?”

“Shut up.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“That was terrible,” Margaery complains. “I cannot believe I just sat through that.”

“Oh, stop. It was sweet.”

“It was predictable.”

Sansa laughs, placing the DVD back in its case.

“Oh, so you prefer the element of surprise?”

Margaery grabs another tissue, dabbing at her nose with it.

“I like a challenge, that’s all.”

“Is that why you went into politics?”

Sansa is sitting down now, one leg tucked under the other. Her dark hair is hanging prettily over her shoulders and her lips are just slightly parted. Margaery has a sudden urge to kiss her. 

Instead, she ducks her head and smiles.

“Yes, I suppose so. That and other things.” 

With a quick smile, Sansa stands up and faces Margaery’s bookshelf. She takes in all of the series and trinkets stacked in it and notices a chess set towards the bottom.

“We should play a game.”

“Pardon?”

“A game,” Sansa says, and she’s grinning now. “I haven’t played a board game in years.”

Margaery wants to say no, that she plays enough games with Eric during the week, but Sansa looks so eager and so excited that Margaery just...can’t.

“Well then, what game?”

“Scrabble.”

“We are not playing Scrabble.”

“Why not?”

“You majored in English. You’ll destroy me.”

Sansa laughs, eyes scanning the shelf for other suggestions.

“Monopoly?”

Margaery smiles and leans back against the couch.

“All right. But only if I get to be the thimble.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“This is ridiculous,” Margaery grumbles, blowing her nose loudly. “How do you have so much money?”

She has just lost another two hundred dollars, not to mention most of her houses and hotels, and she’s getting kind of frustrated.

“Honestly?” Sansa says, and she’s fighting back an embarrassed smile. “I’ve been cheating the whole time.”

Margaery frowns and looks up from her money.

“Are you…no, you’re joking.”

“I wish I were.”

“You’ve been cheating. At a game for ten year olds.”

Sansa blushes.

“Um…yeah.”

Margaery stares at her for a moment, processing that information. And then she bursts out laughing, letting her head fall back against the couch. 

“Hey!” Sansa protests. “This game is hard! I needed a leg up.”

That just makes Margaery laugh harder, and soon Sansa joins in, leaning against Margaery's shoulder. 

It doesn't take long for Margaery's laughter to turn into a stream of coughs and Sansa pats repeatedly at her back.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just sick.”

“You should get some rest,” Sansa suggests, hoisting Margaery to her feet. “Nothing gets rid of a cold faster than a good night’s sleep.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Margaery’s headache is preventing her from resting, so Sansa massages her temples until she finally dozes off, face buried in her pillow.

She thinks she can hear Sansa singing to her, something old and nostalgic, but that could just be her imagination. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Margaery is the first to wake up.

It’s light out, probably the early morning, and she’s grateful that the shades are mostly closed. 

Sansa is curled against her, hair splayed out against the pillows. Her eyes are shut, but she shifts and tugs at Margaery’s shirt, fingers clenched tightly around the material. 

At first Margaery doesn’t want to wake her, but then the circulation in her right arm starts to cut off and she needs to detach herself. 

But first she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Sansa’s cheek. 

“That tickles…”

Margaery grins as Sansa opens her eyes, squinting against the sunlight. 

“Good morning,” Margaery whispers, eyes flickering over Sansa’s face. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm. This mattress is amazing.”

“It’s custom made. A gift from my grandmother.”

She pauses, and then, after a moment, Margaery sighs.

“I’m sorry about our date.”

Her nose is still a bit stuffy, but the worst of her cold seems to have passed. Thank the gods.

“It’s all right,” Sansa says. “I like spending time with you. I don’t care what we’re doing.”

And then she smiles so sweetly that Margaery leans in and kisses her, fingers tangling in her hair. Sansa responds immediately, her hands moving to cup Margaery’s cheeks. 

“I adore you,” Margaery breathes, her lips ghosting over Sansa’s before she presses another quick kiss to them. “You’re lovely.”

Sansa blushes, but doesn’t move away.

“So how long until Eric gets home?”

“Renly’s dropping him off later tonight. Why do you ask?”

Sansa pulls Margaery into another kiss, this one longer than the last.

“Because this date isn’t over yet.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Renly and Loras are flipping through wedding magazines, trying to decide on a good venue.

“We are not getting married in a barn.”

“It’s romantic!”

“No, Renly, it isn’t.”

Margaery ignores them, counting down the minutes until her date with Sansa. It’s their fifth, and Margaery is taking her to a beautiful French restaurant. 

“Margaery, you’re our maid of honor. At least pretend to be interested.”

“Right. Sorry.” Margaery looks up from her phone and smiles. “What shall I do? Call the caterer? Book a tasting for wedding cakes?”

"It would be great if you could work on the guest list." 

"Thrilling." 

“Wow, contain your enthusiasm,” Renly teases, tossing one of the magazines at her. 

“Don’t mind her,” Loras says with a smile. “Margaery hates the whole idea of marriage. And she isn’t too fond of weddings. She thinks they’re insufferable.”

Margaery shrugs.

"I don't know. Perhaps weddings aren't so terrible."

And for a moment Margaery imagines music and roses and Sansa Stark in a long, white dress.


End file.
